Sleeping With Ghost
by f0rkins0cket
Summary: Just because you loved in a past life, doesn't mean you'll love in this one. Shaun/Desmond


I'm not going to bother you with author's notes, just keep in mind that I didn't edit this so don't expect much out of it.

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It happened all too fast. Shaun was coming at him with his right side the whole day, and then would step back and start talking theories that Desmond really didn't care to hear before once more faking with his left and taking a full swing with his right. Desmond didn't flinch at the left fake but always knew to duck at the right hook and shut him out when he started talking again because that was just a distraction and the next attack would come with his left foot at he would have to regain his balance. Except for the fact that Shaun came at him with a shoulder tackle a little too fast for someone who needed to regain their balance from an amputated left arm—and that's when Desmond's brain had to open up again and stop taking advice from past fight that he never fought.

He stayed on the floor staring at the over head light that was too bright for his liking and was happy to see the mess of a hair cut that belonged to _Shaun_ blocking out that annoying 21th century light. He offers his _left_ hand to him and Desmond is too happy to grab onto it and pull himself up to full height where he is _shorter_ then the _Brit_ (which isn't much of an excuse, Ezio managed to fall for Leo and Leo didn't share much resemblance with Malik).

Scratching the back on his head and turning his back he's ready to call it quits, but something is annoying him about leaving when he's been put down on the mat three times in the two hour workout. He lets out a heavy breath turns back to Shaun cracking his left shoulder back into place like it's the most natural thing in the world and this time reminds himself to open his mind to at lease the possibility that Shaun fights differently because he doesn't have balance issues, and Shaun has battle experience so he doesn't have to worry about him being hurt at the fact Desmond has inhered the ability to play dirty.

"Mate, you look a little lost, and you might wanna try and look where my fist is going rather then staring into my eyes the whole time. Better yet, try not to look at me at all, it's a little creepy."

And the accent, just laced with Birtish poison, just like Leonardo's fast Italian mummers that neither Ezio or the Animus could pick up, and the harsh side comments Malik would say loud enough that Altaïr could hear just to be bitter and _angry_. But Desmond hasn't done anything to _Shaun_, and _Shaun_ is always bitter and angry.

Shaun grabbed his arm when Desmond wobbled in both his thought and body. "Des, Des look at me, Des. Come on I need you to focus, Des."

Desmond wants him to keep saying his name, to remind him that he is _Desmond Miles_. He wishes that Shaun knew more about him so he could repeat his life like a storybook and maybe he'd remember it. Everything before the age of eighteen has been whipped a re-written. He can't remember the crazy sound of his Dad banging his knife on the table or his mother's way of always getting the best apples off the tree for her pies, and all this thinking has his head in a world of pain, and Shaun rest him slowly on the mats that feel so conformable compared to the beds of the thieves' quarter.

The older man's hand is running his hand down his arm stopping at where his plus should be and it's oh-too-stimulating for such an innocent act.

So has no choice but to let out a moan. A moan that's not entirely his own, but a moan none the less and he hopes that Shaun just takes it for signal that he's still alive and not what it actually was.

Because he just moan, and that's just awkward and Shaun's face is so close and only if he wasn't flipping in between realities, or in a world of hurt that he wasn't sure really was his world, he'd grab the back of Shaun's head and kiss him just to make the voices that he doesn't understand, but still can comprehend in the back of his head _shut-the-fuck-up_.

His mind is split in three when Shaun takes the leap for him, and without knowing _anything_ Shaun has said in the last twenty minutes his shaky hand comes up and rest it on Shaun's neck.

The Brit pulls away fast and hard, and that's when reality washes over and Desmond realizes that there's panic in Shaun's eyes, and it's not because of that stupid-sweet kiss, it's because something's seriously wrong with himself, and no questions he wants to ask will come out of his mouth without first ringing though his head in a voice that's not quite his own. He next words out of Shaun's mouth are muffed and come out like someone kicked the speakers in the bar, a bar that he suddenly can't remember even though he just thought about it. He tries to read lips, but the motions that he once understood look like something off a black and white-soundless film copying a monkey's cries.

His head is rolling as his shoulder's move up and down and it feels like he's being desynchronized when he finally breaths in and realized that _he wasn't breathing at all_ and Shaun's "kiss" was him trying to get Desmond to stop being _dead_ and _holy shit_.

"Des, Des, Can you hear me Desmond?"

At first Desmond tries to croak out a yes to prove that his voice is working because he's breathing and he has never been so happy to be alive and to be _Desmond_ and it's all just a blur and he's crying and trying not to think and holding onto the wreck of shirt that Shaun uses to work out in.

Everything's just happening too _fast_ and he wants it to _stop_.

So he grabs Shaun's neck and pulls him down to kiss him again, it's so wrong, but it's so right, and it makes the world stop for a minute or two when he can feel Shaun's breath on the side of his nose where he tilted so their lips could fit together, and when it doesn't feel like Shaun is resisting it anymore, even though he never was, Desmond pulls back his lips; chap and quivering from the lack of heat.

Shaun whispers Desmond's name again and he can remember what it was like to be sixteen, running away from home with the car that happened to belong to his neighbor, and the smell of the apple pie that his mom herself would climb the tree for, and how crazy and amusing his father was at the same time, and it all comes flooding back, back, _back_.

Desmond decided he didn't want this life a long time ago, but he didn't want to the life of Altaïr's or Ezio's because it wasn't his life to take.

So when Shaun cupped his cheek and looked into his foggy eyes for that spark of life and _defiance _that wasn't because Desmond was from a long line of stubborn assassins, but because Desmond was _Desmond_ and he would always pick a fight with something he didn't understand.

They both realize that if they continue this romantic side of this relationship that they never had before two weeks ago if you didn't count the centuries that weren't theirs, and that only one really knew the full details of, the only reason they'd be doing it was because of the lame saying that "history repeats itself" and not for their own personal reasons, but to make the voices in the back of Desmond's head feel better about being nonexistent.

Those voices were happy, for the ten minutes it took for Shaun to flip Desmond over and take him.

Shaun pulled up his pants and Desmond slowly slid his jeans over his naked ass and as Shaun (Leo, Malik) walked away Desmond realized how hurt he'd made the other man.

Because Shaun started to believe that, _he_, Shaun, the man that had no problem distinguishing himself from his ancestors (that he still didn't believe he was related to) wanted Desmond.

And Desmond wanted ghosts of past lives that were long since dead.


End file.
